


When Alas My Heart Goes Walking

by Byacolate



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Character Study, Communication, Communication Failure, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Lovers to Friends, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 20:32:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14678963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/pseuds/Byacolate
Summary: Five years is time enough for anything to change.





	When Alas My Heart Goes Walking

**Author's Note:**

> Deadfire set my heart ablaze.
> 
> The Watcher briefly depicted here is an orlan, but otherwise fairly nondescript.

Under the deep blanket of dusk, teetering over the precipice of night, a _scrape-scrape-hiss_ pierced the velvet gloom. The lull of the sea and the settling of the vessel did not drown the approach of footfalls, and neither did Aloth discourage them.

 

“Well now. Been awhile.”

 

The familiar heady scent of smoke made his stomach swoop. Though... perhaps that might have been the Defiant’s great lurching.

 

“Oh aye,” Iselmyr began, her thoughts running afoul of decency. Aloth cleared his throat. “Ah… yes. I suppose it has.”

 

Edér was… Edér felt as he always had. He radiated solidity. Security. A steady hand and mind as ever the target of Aloth’s envy. Five years had not changed his visage, except perhaps for granting him a fuller beard.

 

Little about him had wavered, not least his dependability. The errant thought had hit Aloth when he’d crept out of safekeeping with the rest of the crew and his suspicions were confirmed - the voice in parley with Banessa through the barrier had indeed been familiar. In the tumult of Aloth's life, there were few constant truths. Two were thus: that the Watcher had impeccable timing for saving his skin, and that where she could be found, Edér would not be far. It had been true of Aloth once, too, but… well. He has known _very_ few constant truths.

 

With a snap of his fingers, a heatless ball of flame crackled into being, flickering between them. Edér’s profile was cast in a golden glow, not at all unlike a hundred campfires long doused.

 

Somewhere below deck, a deep voice bellowed with song, drawing cheers and caterwauling from the crew. Five years gone and Aloth’s thoughts were drawn to Kana Rua still. The soft breath of laughter beside him made Aloth wonder if the sentiment was shared.

 

“You needed a breath of fresh air too?” Edér asked, bending over the railing to rest his weight upon his elbows. The look he gave Aloth over his shoulder all but dared him to adopt much the same pose. Aloth straightened his spine. Eying Edér’s pipe, he sniffed.

 

“Is that what you came out for? Fresh air?”

 

The faint wrinkles around Edér’s eyes deepened almost imperceptibly in the flickering flame. Perhaps Aloth only imagined them. “Fresher’n a smoke indoors.”

 

“Quite.”

 

When Edér slowly smiled, Aloth found his lips returned the favor. Yet when they parted, the words that flew were not his own.

 

“Ach, dunnae listen tae the dafty. He's goin’ on and on inside abou’ the braw state ae you, lad.”

 

Aloth forced himself to hold Edér’s gaze even as he felt his face bloom with heat. The saliva in his mouth went strange and thick when Edér’s smile turned an old familiar shade of pensive.

 

“Don't you mind her,” Edér said, casting his eyes out to sea. Aloth glanced out again, but his gaze returned once more to the slope of Edér’s nose. “I'm not here to toss you back into, uh. Old habits of ours.”

 

“No,” Aloth agreed, feeling abruptly lightheaded. His tongue lay leaden in his mouth, a graceless slab of meat. “No. Why would you.”

 

Edér turned to look at him again. Aloth rather wished that he would look back out to sea. He clasped his hands behind his back and examined the starry expanse of the heavens.

 

“Yeah, why would I?”

 

A trick he’d learned from a vulgar little orlan years ago: _when you're about to say something you really_ _really_ _oughtn’t - and only on pain of death, testicular mutilation, fisherman’s rot, etcetera and so forth - should you take a moment to taste your chops._ Aloth ran his tongue over his teeth, gliding the tip of it from canine to canine. _That,_ Hiravias had said, was time enough to decide if that niggling bastard of a thought was worth wrestling back into your head for safeguarding.

 

“I have no answers for you that you would not know yourself,” Aloth offered primly.

 

Edér regarded him through plumes of smoke, teething on his pipe. When he stood up straight once more, Aloth held his ground despite the urge to flee.

 

“Now that's a damn rotten shame for the likes of me.” Edér nodded to himself, twin columns of smoke pouring from his nostrils. Vividly, Aloth recalled a room in Brackenbury so many years ago where Edér had shown him the same trick, grinning as the smoke billowed from his nose and teeth. He'd called himself a dragon, entertaining mostly himself in their little cabin - barely fit for one grown man, much less two. Aloth had realized in retrospect that Edér was trying to calm his frayed nerves by playing the jester - whether it entertained or annoyed him, he'd succeeded.

 

Aloth had let Edér kiss him, then. After everything and nothing had changed and Aloth’s soul was laid bare.

 

 _“You spend an awful lot of time bein’ dour,”_ Edér had said. His fingers were so rough to the touch but gentle upon the side of Aloth's neck where he cupped his skin and drew him close. _“That's alright sometimes. But when you got a weight lifted off you - that look on your face -”_

 

Edér had kissed him, and Aloth was taken completely.

 

And when Edér was confronted with the truth about his brother, Aloth had been adrift. But not so adrift as Edér, and so as poorly versed as he was in matters of comfort, Aloth had watched over Edér from an appropriate distance. Hawkishly. Perhaps unnervingly so. Edér had reached out himself, in the end, ever guiding his own energies where Aloth was sorely lacking. He had tipped his chin toward the Brighthollow stairs and Aloth had followed after. Given direction and foregoing expertise, Aloth had tried to comfort Edér through his own awkward advances. His skin had been hot, his hands weary, so Aloth had taken care of him. It had felt strange - not right, but not wrong. As though the action had not mattered half as much as the effort.

 

Aloth did not know how to bridge the distance between them now any more than he did then. Edér watched him like he figured as much, but still he waited. Paused with his eyes on Aloth’s face, the silence between them thick with smoke.

 

He did not know what to say, and even less how to say it. If it wasn't written in a book or pulled out of him with a winch, Aloth never really knew how to yield the scrapings of his soul. Edér was always a patient man, but even saints had limitations.

 

With a nod and a sigh, the last of the tobacco smoke drifted free of Edér’s lips. “I'm a little too old to be playin’ these games, Aloth.” He tapped out his pipe over the rail before clapping Aloth’s shoulder in passing. “Reckon you are too.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

Xoti really liked Edér. Xoti really liked everyone, but she _really_ liked Edér. Aloth could hardly blame her; his fondness, too, ran deep, twisted into his soul as the ventricles of a heart.

 

But she was also jealous - of Edér and the Watcher both, so Aloth could not be. Every nibble at her nails when the two at the lead so much as spoke to other kith pushed Aloth’s feelings deeper and deeper until he could pretend he did not feel them at all.

 

Xoti liked Edér, but Edér… had his own feelings. Ones he tried to keep between their Watcher and himself, but even a blind man could see his discomfort with Xoti’s attempts at conversation.

 

Aloth sympathized with her plight: he had never been known for his social graces either, and _he_ had never been as sweet of disposition as she. So Aloth vowed within the privacy of his heart to treat her with kindness - a silent camaraderie for people who disquieted even bold-hearted charmers like Edér.

 

So it came as quite a start when Xoti approached Aloth aboard the ship, a bottle in her hands.

 

“Hey!” she greeted lifting the bottle with a little shake. Her eyes darted only briefly to Edér’s usual haunt. His absence was as palpable as his presence. “I brought this back from the wreckage of that old ship we found this morning? Spirits -hah!" She snorted, slapping a knee. "Get it? Hah... Thought you might like to enjoy it with me.”

 

It was unlikely that Aloth was her first choice, but it was still kind of her to ask. “Thank you,” he began, apologetic and light, “but it is a bit early for me to partake. There is yet work to be done in my old tomes.”

 

“Oh!” Without a beat missed, Xoti put the spirits on a crate and slipped her hands into the pockets of her cloak. She pulled out an apple from each, rubbing one off on her chest and holding it out to Aloth. “Never you mind that bottle then! Leastaways, not for now.”

 

With a little laugh, he took it from her. It smelled fresh and sweet, like autumn in the Dyrwood. “I could hardly refuse such an offer.”

 

Though the gesture was kind, it was not without motive; that became clear soon enough. They spoke of faith and magic, and they spoke of the Watcher. Caed Nua. Of the stewardess, and of Iselmyr. And then in time, they spoke of the past. They spoke of the past and -

 

“So… well, you knew him, right?” Xoti sat cross-legged atop a crate, fiddling with the bottle of spirits. Her face twisted into a grimace. “Thought maybe you'd know why he's all… weird around me? I ain't the most worldy woman, but a-course I know that the funny looks he gives me ain't the good kind.”

 

Aloth was at a loss for words. He had never been the sort of person anybody came to for advice regarding… _people_. Stranger still, however, was that he believed he had the answer. Through no particular knowledge of his own - he was, after all, socially bereft at the best of times. But who could miss the divot in Edér’s brow when Xoti spoke of her Gaun? Who wouldn't notice the fissure between the passionate ardor of a faithful youth and the scars of a man who knew one too many martyrs?

 

Edér wore his emotions plainly. How could she not see?

 

“‘Tis nawt for ‘im tae say, wee yin. Nor ae.” Aloth cleared his throat, his gaze briefly shifted from Xoti’s face.

 

“As much as it vexes me to be in agreement with her, she speaks true. I'm afraid it isn't for me to share.”

 

“Oh.” She looked down at the bottle in her hands, nodding a little. When she looked back up, she was red about the cheeks. “No, course you're right. Sorry, Aloth. I didn't mean to try to pitch you into a barrel of gossip.”

 

“It is no matter,” he gentled. Aloth was never good at these things; the discomfort on Xoti's face spelled it plainly. But perhaps he really was too old to be mired in well-worn habits such as acquiescence to his own shortcomings. He gestured toward the bottle. “You know, actually, I do believe I saw a set of stone goblets around here somewhere. Do you suppose you might…?”

 

Xoti's eyes flicked toward him, lit up like stars. Quick as a wink, she pulled the sickle from her belt and dug it into the cork. It popped out with a single, well practiced twist. “Hoo! I was hopin’ you'd change your mind!”

 

When the moon was round in the sky, the Watcher guided Xoti up to her cabin giggling and swaying. Edér pressed himself near flush against the wall to avoid contact with them on the stairs.

 

Aloth was neither giggling nor swaying, and Edér guided him nowhere. He was tucked against the wall with a pleasant fog in his head and a smile on his face that dimmed only a touch when Edér approached.

 

“Looks like you two had quite an evening,” he said as he set his sword and shield against the wall. Absently, Aloth tucked the open grimoire to his chest as he watched Edér go about unshackling himself from his armor. Belatedly, he remembered that staring was unbecoming of an educated man, and turned his eyes to the far wall instead.

 

“Oh aye, and nae a lick o’ sense betwixt ‘em.”

 

“Hush.” Aloth found his eyes drifting to Edér’s form as the belt fell to the floor, and so he closed his eyes to be safe.

 

Iselmyr’s cackle danced in his head. In some way it was tempered by the sound of Edér’s soft chuckle on the outside.

 

The soft thud of glass against wood jolted Aloth from his fixation on the sweep of cloth. “You really drank it all. And you didn't even save a drop for me. I'm hurt.”

 

“Would you like some?” Shyness curled its fuzzy fingers in his chest, so Aloth’s eyes remained shut. Edér did not answer. Perhaps in his drunkenness, Aloth said the wrong thing. He explained, “It will be very difficult, for I do not know the brand. The lab… the label was worn away, but. If you want. I will search some... Some more shipwrecks.” He frowned. “There are so _many_ shipwrecks. Maybe it won't be so hard after all.”

 

“It ain't that complicated.”

 

Here, Aloth found his giggles. “It's always that complicated.”

 

Aloth did not know how he got himself to bed, but the next time he opened his eyes, he was there. The ship rocked with the waves, and his grimoire was no longer in his arms.

 

Iselmyr bid him not to lose sleep over pointless worries, and Aloth quietly, cautiously rolled over to oblige.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

Edér would speak to Iselmyr, but not Aloth. A part of him could understand this: Edér had always gotten along better with Iselmyr’s wily nature, her sense of humor, and her… charms. Still, it smarted that Edér could look him in the eye until it was actually _him_.

 

It nettled that Edér liked Iselmyr best back in the Dyrwood, and it did now. Perhaps more, after… well. And it nettled in how it was done - that Edér was comfortable enough to poke fun at Aloth, to make him the butt of their jokes only to sober when the object of their teasing returned.

 

Regardless of his feelings, Aloth should have known better than to allow it to affect his relationship with Edér, as strained as it was. And he did know better. But that did not stop his petty words or bitter tone when he spoke to Edér as the Watcher dragged them over the archipelago.

 

He did not know what was worse: that he regretted speaking thusly to Edér through the moment his tongue was wagging and still carried on, or that Edér appeared truly chagrined by it. He lowered his eyes and offered schoolboy apologies, and that was that.

 

Aloth did not know why he felt he ought to make amends; he was the slighted party, to be trapped in his own mind by a long-dead woman who used his heart’s ardor to embarrass him. And to what end? To sever any feelings Edér may have felt toward Aloth that were not wholly unpleasant?

 

_Ought’a watch yerself - ye might strain a muscle jumpin’ tae so many conclusions._

 

He ignored her, too.

 

Lacking the solace of his own mind, it was no wonder the Watcher found him. Through some preternatural sense, she always seemed to find him at his most aimless and adrift. Maybe in some strange way, she could hear his soul calling out.

 

Aloth truly hoped not; what a terrible burden that would be to bear.

 

“You look troubled,” she said, adjusting a tricorn cap over her ears. It never sat right when the high winds caught the sails. Aloth accepted a cup of brandy and nursed it between between both hands.

 

He confessed: “I feel troubled.”

 

The sun setting upon the horizon cast a hundred warm hues over the ocean waves. She humored him for a moment, following his gaze outward. But Aloth knew that he was ever in her periphery. It made him anxious, once, how she always seemed to see through him. At some juncture, between pragmatism and trust, that anxiety had turned to comfort. For once, it was good to be known.

 

Few things between them had changed between then and now, and that _knowing_ was not one of them.

 

She would be patient if he asked for patience, but he did not truly need it now.

 

“I may be feeling… compromised.”

 

She took a sip of her brandy, her eyes focused entirely upon him. Aloth took the cue for what it was and went on: “I am… unequipped, as it were, for matters of the heart. And now I am reaping what I have sewn with that ignorance.” He swallows a mouthful of brandy, grimacing at the strength.

 

The Watcher watched. He could hide nothing from her gaze, he knew - even the things he did not say. Maybe especially those.

 

“Sounds like a problem that an honest heart to heart couldn't hurt.”

 

Aloth's lips twisted. “I am not… adept at choosing the right words when they are needed,” he said.

 

“I didn't say the words had to be _right_.”

 

A line went taut between his brow. “Surely honesty is preferred when it is shaped into something more… agreeable to the recipient. That alchemy is where I fall flat.”

 

The Watcher, in her infinite eloquence, shrugged. She muffled a burp behind her fist. “The same could be said for deceit, and all foggy half-truths.” She drank from her cup and tipped her head toward him. “Tell it plain when you can. The rest usually falls into place.”

 

He saw the tricorner cap begin to fall, and with nary a thought, reached out to right it. The Watcher’s crafty eyes warmed to a molten emotion that Aloth wished he knew how to convey.

“You have given me something to think on. Thank you, Watcher,” he said, and she waved him off, tipping the remainder of her cup into his.

 

“Think nothing of it. What am I to do if I'm not looking after you?”

 

“Findin’ a bit o’ flesh for yerself, aye wee burd?”

 

The Watcher sniffed, stealing that finger of brandy right back. “Well. Nobody asked for _your_ honesty, now did they.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

“Edér! Be _careful!_ ”

 

Edér was so close that Aloth could see each bead of sweat on his brow. Teeth clenched, the bull-headed fool dug his fingers into the scruff of the pirate’s neck and yanked him back by the flesh. Cursing, Aloth redirected his charged spell toward one of the half dozen marauders approaching from behind. A bolt of arcane energy shot through three of them, leaving them staggering and wheezing for the others to pick off, but the remaining three continued their advance.

 

Aloth shot a ray of pure scorching heat into the face of one as Edér plunged his sword into the prone pirate’s chest. “Edér, behind -” He choked on a garbled cry as a blunt crack of pain lanced through his skull. What sorry state was he in that he could _recognize_ the sensation of a pistol-whipping?

 

Scrambling for his bearings amidst a sea of black spots in his vision, Aloth's leaden tongue reached for a new spell. Familiar gunfire rang out and wet warmth splattered across Aloth’s back; Serafen gave him a wink from the stairs as he reloaded his blunderbus. Aloth shuddered through the sensation of wetness cooling on his back - he turned his attention back to the advancing pirates, and -

 

Edér could parry one blow, then two, but a knave with a dagger caught him by surprise from the side. Aloth’s ears still rang, but through the din of that ringing and the battle waged around them, Edér's pained grunt cut through. He staggered and sank to his knees, and before Aloth could speak a word, the largest of the three crushed Edér to the floor with his boot.

 

Blood trickled from Edér's lips. He did not stand again.

 

“ _Edér!”_ Aloth shuddered, and from somewhere far away, he distantly felt hand that were his and not his draw the rapier from his side. When his lips moved, it was with a snarl that was his and a voice that was not. “I'll _kill_ the bastards!”

 

When Aloth came to, his vision had nearly cleared. He was on the floor of the deck, a hazy island of stillness as the crew worked around him looting the bodies of their enemies and hoisting them over the side of the ship. The Watcher crouched before him, concern plain on her face. Between them lay Edér, his head cradled upon Aloth's thighs.

 

“Glad to have you back with us,” the Watcher murmured setting aside an empty vial of healing. One of the surgeons - another orlan, though Aloth could not place her name - sat examining the wound in Edér's side. “Let's see if our farmer will be so gracious.”

 

As the moments trudged on, the others drifted in to check in Edér's progress. Another healer examined Aloth’s head, and he was yet dazed enough to allow it without fuss.

 

In point of fact, he was only just realizing how covered he was in blood and viscera when Edér stirred. He grunted and huffed enough to quell several of Aloth’s worries, and when he looked around, it was with no small effort. The look he gave Aloth was funny, but his eyes did not linger; the surgeon pierced his flesh with a needle and began to thread his wounds closed. Edér hissed, his eyes growing sharper with new pain to clear his mind.

 

“Steady now,” the Watcher entreated, knocking softly at Edér's jaw. “Keep still, you big pincushion.”

 

Edér grunted, blinking at the activity around them. “Why’s’is all happ’nin’ on the floor?”

 

That was a fair point that Aloth hadn't the wherewithal to think himself. Perhaps he should have asked for a more thorough examination of his head wound.

 

“ _Someone_ wouldn't let you go long enough to get you to the infirmary.”

 

Ah.

 

That would be… him. Aloth could not recall the end of the battle or drawing Edér to him - it must have been Iselmyr in all her tenacity. Edér turned his eyes back to Aloth, who for the life of him could not fathom why he was still cradling Edér's head as though he had the right. He lifted his idle hand from Edér's straw-pale hair like a man scalded.

 

“My deepest pardons,” he stuttered, and set Edér flat upon the deck with care and great haste. “I will… see to my own injuries.”

 

He stumbled only once in his retreat below deck. Naturally, it was out where anyone could have seen, had they only bothered to watch. He hoped for nothing more than that they would not.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

Between Ymir, Edér, and the Watcher’s scrutiny, Aloth wanted to sink into a pit to die. Ymir’s open excitement at their reunion was a testament to Aloth’s social shortcomings. It felt stark - raw and humiliating to be forced to examine both sides of the coin of his ineptitude at once: the man that read his disinterest for interest, and the one who owned his affections and could not feel them at all.

 

He was teased the due amount, and bore it all with reddened ears. When they left, he did not look to see if Edér’s eyes lingered upon Ymir’s enchanting smile, or his many enchanting _elsewheres_.

 

The subject of Elafa Maesy caused an entirely different sort of discomfort altogether.

 

“About… Elafa.”

 

Edér glanced up at him from the floor of the cabin, fast as you please before his attention returned to the sword in his lap. Clenching his jaw, Aloth did not intend to wait for Edér's reply. Yet still, a reply was given. “What about her.”

 

“I… wish to offer my condolences. I know that what we found was… not what you were looking for.”

 

“Wasn't looking for anything in particular. Just answers, I guess.”

 

“And those that you found were unsatisfactory.”

 

Another silence fell between them, but a familiar one. Aloth was paranoid by so many silences, but he could recognize that this one as the time Edér needed to mull over a thought.

 

“I don't rightly see why it matters,” Edér finally admitted as he glumly polished his sword. Aloth swallowed, clasping his hands before him.

 

“It does not.”

 

More silence trickled between them like a bad smell. It had never been his job to clear it, before. But…

 

“No, it… it does matter. To me. I suppose I meant it only _ought_ not.”

 

Edér’s attention on him felt like the first ray of summer sun after a long and stormy season. “Uh.”

 

“No. Allow me a moment.” Aloth smoothed down his robes and very certainly did not fiddle with them further. Blessedly, Edér obeyed. “I am... poor - with words. The ones that matter, with… people. You.” His whole face must have been aglow. Very quickly, he lost the battle with himself to maintain Edér’s gaze. “I am - I feel deeply... about who she was to you - how you cared for her enough to track her all over Deadfire.”

 

When Edér's voice came, it was slow, but not in the halting way that Aloth could not quell. “The past is past, Aloth.”

 

A hand grasped at his sash where it folded into his belt and wrung at it in spite of himself. “Yes. I know.”

 

“Plenty enough is past,” he went on. Aloth nodded at the floor.

 

“Quite.”

 

The creak of the hull did nothing to ease the misery swallowing Aloth whole.

 

“Dunno about you, but I've had enough of livin’ in the past,” he said, and the thud of his scabbard being set against the wall drew Aloth’s attention. Edér stood, tall but not nearly as tall as Aloth though some days it did not feel so. “Pretty as it can be.”

 

He was not graceful weeks before, but he could be in his retreat now that Edér spoke so plainly. Aloth nodded and took a step back. “I understand.”

 

A hand upon his arm was quick to make him flinch, but Edér’s grip was lax.

 

“I don't think you do.”

 

Aloth knew that the lower decks were empty - most were giving Edér a wide berth for his stormy mood, so estranged from his usual disposition. They were alone.

 

“Y’know, I always think I got you figured out. And most of the time, I'm pretty sure I'm on the money. Thought I knew what this… mire between us was about. But you get hot and cold on me, and you won't speak it plain.”

 

Aloth looked down at Edér's hand upon his wrist and could not fathom how he was meant to speak with a clear and reasonable head. He had little enough clarity and reason to spare at the best of times.

 

“It is fairly simple,” he said, his voice high and reedy. He cleared his throat to try again, raising his eyes to Edér's. Lo, but he was a sad sweaty mess. “I cannot… _I_  cannot abandon the past so easily. It is dear to me still.”

 

“Which parts of it?” Edér asked, a furrow in his brow. He tipped his head forward to keep Aloth's eye. “The me parts?”

 

Aloth frowned back, opening and closing his mouth. “Of course the _you_ parts.”

 

Edér looked across Aloth’s face. “Well all you had to do was say so.”

 

“Fye, isnae tha’ what I’ve been sayin’ all the while?”

 

Aloth's face morphed into a scowl and Edér's, a sunny grin. “Well, that's all fine. A fine thing to hear.”

 

“Is it?” Aloth asked, blinking twice to mask the flutter of his lashes. _Could it really be so simple a thing to speak and be heard,_ he thought in a tizzy.

 

Edér stepped in closer. “I reckon it is.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

The space behind the crates was dark and cozy enough, and out of view from the stairs should anyone descend. And if they were quiet, there was nothing to worry about.

 

Aloth buried his face into Edér's shoulder to stifle the piteous noises coasting along every breath he took. Edér's mouth on his neck was shaped like a smile.

 

“Stop that,” Aloth protested, curling his fingers in the fair at the nape of Edér's neck. “No, not that - stop grinning like a fool so you can _keep_ doing _that_.”

 

Edér's rumbling laughter sent another shiver through Aloth’s core. He opened his mouth to utter a protest that died the moment Edér's hand found its way under Aloth's sash. Fumbling like schoolboys - like the sort of schoolboy Aloth had never been - was not entirely new to Aloth, as it were. Edér had made shorter work of him in stranger places.

 

Wasting little time, Edér cupped him, drawing lamentable noise from Aloth. “There you are.”

 

“For the sake of the gods,” Aloth muttered, tucking his nose into Edér's collar. Sword oil. Leather. His mouth opened with an aborted cry when Edér with his free hand hauled Aloth higher up the wall. “Please -”

 

“He's all pleasantries now is’n’e, once ye’ve firm hold of ‘is flesh!”

 

“Now now. This is between Aloth ‘n' me.” Despite the humor in his tone, Edér's words were weighty. He dragged his beard along Aloth's neck and banished Iselmyr like something out of Aloth's deepest fantasies.

 

“More’s a pity. Ah, but would ye look a’ that: ye’ve found a shiny new way ‘a raise ‘is topsail,” Iselmyr sighed before she retreated back to the depths of Aloth’s mind. Taken by a flight of fancy, he pressed his mouth just under Edér's ear. Aloth tasted salt, and he kissed again.

 

Edér didn't dare try to wrestle either of them out of their garments, and it had been so long since - well. Their coupling, though brief, winded Aloth  and left him sorely unguarded when Edér invited him back to his bunk. He could see no reason to reject such an invitation, and so followed Edér into his quarters.

 

More vulnerable yet was the feeling in his belly when they lay together and Edér looked like he felt nearly as strange about the arrangement as Aloth. Panicked, Aloth went from stiffly prone to bolt upright. Edér's hand stayed him when he cobbled together an excuse to flee.

 

“No. Stay. ‘S just… been awhile.”

 

Memories of the last night he ever spent in Brighthollow flicker across Aloth's mind. Then, the five years in between.

 

“Yes, I see your point.”

 

Something in Edér's hesitation made Aloth a little bolder. He lay back down and moved himself close to the wall, eyes on Edér all the while. They watched each other in the dim candlelight before Edér huffed a breath and lifted an arm. “C’mon.”

 

Feigning reticence, Aloth rolled over until his back was close enough to Edér to feel his heat. Edér's laugh was but a breath of warmth against his ear as he closed the distance. His arm was exactly as heavy as Aloth remembered, and the solid mass of Edér at his back was still a luxury.

 

In his ear, Edér's voice was a quiet accompaniment to the vessel’s rocking. Aloth shivered and closed his eyes. “I won't ask why you left. Know you had a plan of your own. We all got our paths to follow, and I can't begrudge you that. Didn't follow, and I don't know if that's on account of my own path or if I was just afraid you didn't want me along. But... I figure if we survive all this, I can't promise that I won't ask you not to leave again.”

 

Aloth opened and closed his eyes, touching the back of Edér's hand in lament of five long years. His voice came soft with confession. “I… you know, I hope that you will.”

 

This time, the silence between them spoke only of calm waters and bygone storms. And that was quite enough for Aloth.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing a high fantasy comic about a wandering bard! [Check it out from the beginning HERE!](https://bardbouquet.tumblr.com/post/179195348759/a-dwarven-heirloom-a-blade-in-the-dark-and-a)
> 
> My Tumblr: [wardencommando](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/).  
> Inquire about fic reque$t$ [here!](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/ask)  
> 


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